Inheritance Cycle Book 5: A New Order
by arack14
Summary: For seven years, peace has reined throughout Alagaësia. But now, a new enemy rises up in rebellion against Nasuada's empire and threatens to destroy everything she's worked for, and it's up to Eragon, Arya, Murtagh, and the new generation of Riders to stop him. But when he turns out to be much more cunning than they thought, someone could end up paying the price...
1. Chapter 1

**Introductory Author's Note: First things first, I just want to thank everyone for choosing to read my fanfiction. Hopefully you enjoy it, and hopefully I won't take too long to update the story with now chapters. Right now, I'm planning for at least 65 chapters. I've got the main plotline set in my head, so we'll see how long it takes me to run out of ideas (I don't consider myself a particularly creative person, but I quite enjoy writing, hence this). It would help me greatly if you could write a short review, and I'd also appreciate recommendations for new characters. Once again, thanks for choosing this fanfic, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Inheritance_, Eragon, Saphira, etc, they all belong to Paolini.**

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CHAPTER 1

Despite his inhuman stamina and endurance, Eragon was beginning to tire. His duel with Blödhgarm was lasting far longer than he had intended; the elf was proving to be quite a formidable opponent, and Eragon knew that if he didn't end it quickly, there was a very good chance he would lose. Even though it was only a friendly sparring session, Eragon hated to lose, even if was to such an experienced swordsman as Blödhgarm.

Finally, Eragon saw his chance. As he blocked a strike that was aimed at his left knee, he slid Brisingr up the blade of Blödhgarm's sword so that their hilts locked together, and with a swift twist, Eragon put the elf's arm in such an awkward position that he was forced to drop his sword. Blödhgarm seemed amused as Brisingr rustled the fur on his neck.

"Well fought, Shadeslayer," he purred, and bowed, twisting his hand over his sternum in the elves' gesture of respect.

"And you as well, Blödhgarm," Eragon answered, returning the gesture. As he was about to add something, a round of applause sounded from the left side of the room. Startled, Eragon turned and beheld his three students, smiling and cheering his victory. On the left was Gorikk, a large Urgal who, despite his size, was not Kull. In the middle was Laëra, an elf female with long, flowing black hair, and on the right was Kuren, a stout young dwarf with, surprisingly, not much of a beard. Laëra was the first to speak.

"How do you do it, ebrithil?" she asked. "No matter how many times we watch you spar, I can never imagine how you are so skilled."

Gorikk was similarly impressed. "Aye, Firesword," he grunted. "That was a masterful work of swordsmanship. How is it you are able to defeat any opponent?"

Eragon smiled and shrugged. "Lots of practice, I suppose," he replied. Then a glint appeared in his eyes. "And also, I have learned to see what I am looking at." The students were confused by his statement, but when he made no attempt to elaborate, they didn't bother to ask. Eragon looked at them for a little while, and then spoke again. "Have you three memorized the spells I assigned you yesterday?" he inquired. The young Riders' hearts sank. Eragon could tell from the look on their faces that they hadn't, so, allowing his voice take on a bit of a stern tone, he said, "Then what are waiting for? Go, off to your chambers! And don't come out until you've learned those spells!"

The three Riders shamefully turned and traipsed back to their quarters. Eragon grunted. "Sometimes those three can be quite troublesome," he muttered.

_And were you not the same when Brom, and later Oromis and Glaedr were training _you_? _A voice spoke in his mind. Eragon partly jumped; Saphira had been so quiet until that moment that he hadn't even realized she was there. Eragon sighed.

_I suppose_, he conceded. He felt compelled to add, _But at least I learned the words and spells they assigned me._

Saphira snorted, or at least Eragon got the impression that she had, because she was not actually with him at the moment. _And these Riders are still hatchlings._

It was Eragon's turn to snort. _They've been here for a year, and you say they are still hatchlings?_

_Yes._ _They are still young and inexperienced._

Eragon decided it was not worth arguing with a dragon, especially over something like that, so he let the subject drop. Trying to change the subject, he asked, _How are the dragons coming along today? _

_ Very well, and from what I can see, better than their Riders. _Eragon grunted his affirmation, but offered no other response. Instead, he left the sparring hall and walked through the great halls of their magnificent castle. He climbed up several flights of stairs before he finally arrived at his destination: the top of the castle's main tower, where there was a chamber designed for both a dragon and Rider. This was Eragon and Saphira's quarters. Though the cave was open to the air, Eragon had cast a spell that kept the weather from entering into the large room.

It was there that Eragon stood now, looking over the vast landscape of Vroengard Island, for it was there that they had chosen to rebuild the Riders.

When they had first defeated Galbatorix and Eragon began considering leaving Alagaësia, he realized that they had completely overlooked the best place to train the new Riders: the ancestral home of the Riders, Vroengard. It was true that the land was tainted by wild magic, but Eragon was confident that, by using the Name of the ancient language, he would be able to restore the island to its former glory.

And restore it he did. It took almost two months to fully cleanse Vroengard of the poison that still lurked there, but once they had, Eragon and the elves that travelled with him had immediately set to work building a castle. Even before it was started, Eragon named it New Doru Araeba.

The first thing they built was the dragonhold, the large circular spire that rose up from the center of the main keep. The tower stood over five hundred feet tall, with caves built into it to accommodate the dragons. It was made entirely of silver, with a brilliant sheen that sparkled in the daylight and caught and amplified the moon and starlight, which gave it a warm glow in the darkness.

The main body of the castle was surrounded by a shining sapphire wall, the same color as the scales on Saphira's flanks, in the shape of a square. The wall was close to three hundred feet tall and twenty five feet thick, and its sides were two hundred feet long. Each side was oriented to the compass rose and on each side there was a gate. The gates were a slightly darker shade of blue, like the scales on Saphira's back. They were inlaid with beautiful designs, of elves and of dwarves, of forests and rivers, and many other things besides. The gates stood at about half the total height of the walls themselves.

After the walls, the next thing one came to was the courtyard. It stretched for about fifty feet, on every side, going from the outer wall all the way up to the walls of the main keep. The keep, again, had a set of doors on each side, with paths leading from them straight to the outer gates. The doors were a stunning shade of ruby, but the color was not uniform throughout. It shimmered and shifted, some parts appearing darker, some appearing lighter. The doors were as beautiful as the outer walls.

The inside of the keep was divided in half. The eastern section was the sparring hall, which was large enough to comfortably fit several thousand people. The rest of the castle was set aside as living quarters for the training Riders. Most of the time, Eragon held his lessons in the sparring hall. They needed no room dedicated for the instruction of the dragons, as Saphira did her teaching outside.

However, there was another section of the castle that few knew of. Underneath the keep, an enormous cavern had been hollowed out, at least the size of the entire fortress above it. In the center of the cavern was a circular pit, radiating heat and filling the cavern with a warm light. The walls of the cavern were a couple hundred feet tall, and each wall was lined with hundreds of alcoves. On the left and right side, these alcoves held Eldunarí, those Eragon and Saphira had rescued from Galbatorix, and also those that they had found in the Vault of Souls. On the far wall, the alcoves housed dragon eggs.

After Galbatorix's defeat, Glaedr, Umaroth, and any of the other Eldunarí willing to help had dedicated themselves to trying to bring sanity back to the Eldunarí that Galbatorix had enslaved. Eragon, Saphira, Blödhgarm, and the others helped when they could, but they had only recently succeeded in saving the last heart of hearts four months ago.

Eragon thought back to that moment, when the last Eldunarí had finally recovered, aided by their help. The raw joy and happiness exuded by the dragon had overwhelmed Eragon.

Smiling at the memory, he watched as Saphira taught the young dragons new aerial combat maneuvers. After a while, he reached out to her mind and said, _I think that's good enough for today. _

_I was just about to tell the hatchlings the same thing,_ Saphira responded. A few seconds later, the other dragons broke off from Saphira and landed in the courtyard, with Saphira herself flying up to join Eragon in their chamber. The pair watched in silence as the dragons greeted their Riders after a hard day of learning. The dragon on their left was a male named Dargath, whose scales were a misty grey; his Rider was Gorikk, the Urgal. Next to him was a female named Sílhana that was a breathtaking deep purple; she was bonded to the elf Laëra. The third dragon, Narrvel, belonged to the dwarf Kuren. Narrvel's scales were a ruddy orange, the color of the setting sun.

The huge chamber was filled with Saphira's humming. _We have done well, little one,_ she said in his mind.

Eragon rubbed her snout. _That we have,_ he agreed. _But there isn't a day that goes by that I can't help but be reminded of Oromis… I'm sure he's a much better teacher than I ever will be._

_Now that's hardly fair,_ Saphira admonished. _He had been teaching Riders for a very long time before you studied under him. Besides, you have done an excellent job._

Eragon let his pleasure at those words leak across their link. _Thank you, Saphira. And don't think I haven't noticed how well you've teaching those dragons. You should hear Dargath rave about how amazing a teacher you are, and how honored he is to be your pupil._

At that, Saphira blew a puff of smoke out of her nostrils. _As he should be._

Eragon looked at her for a moment, but he could not help himself, and he burst out laughing. Saphira gazed at him, and Eragon responded with, _There is nothing in the world that is bigger than a dragon's pride. _Saphira snorted, but made no attempt to deny it.

_It is late, and I am tired._ She laid her enormous head down next to him. _Goodnight, little one._

Eragon rubbed her nose again. _Goodnight, Saphira._

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The next morning, Eragon was roused from his waking dreams by someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and looked around until he his gaze alit on the mirror he used to communicate with his friends and relatives on the mainland. But right now, the mirror did not show the inside of his and Saphira's room. At the moment, it bore an image of an elf with jet-black hair, standing in her personal chamber. Resting on her head was a small golden circlet.

Eragon sprang up from his position on the ground. "Arya!" he exclaimed.

Arya smiled and, touching the first two fingers of her right hand to her lips, she greeted him with, "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon." Eragon smiled in return and uttered the next line of the greeting. After Arya completed it with the third and final line, she said, "It's good to see you again, Eragon." Her voice turned grave. "But I wish I had a more fortunate reason for contacting you."

Eragon's heart sank to his boots. "What is it?" he asked, dreading the answer. "What's happened?"

"It's King Orrin," Arya responded, and Eragon frowned. Before he could say anything, though, Arya continued. "Yesterday morning, he fell ill. He had an extremely high fever, and despite the Surdan healers' best attempts to cure him, he finally died sometime last night. They intended to elect and announce his successor this afternoon."

The news saddened Eragon. He and King Orrin were never close – far from it, in fact – but Eragon hated to hear that he had passed into the void. Speaking around the lump in his throat, he managed to say, "Who is most likely to replace him?"

At this, Arya grimaced. "Orrin's son isn't yet old enough," she answered. "But my guess would be Mareth. He was the general of the Surdan army, and for all intents and purposes Orrin's second-in-command."

Eragon frowned again, this time at her reaction. "Do you think he will not be a good ruler?"

Arya shrugged. "Time will tell," she said simply.

For the next several minutes, they continued to talk, asking each other how they had been since they last talked. With a jolt, Eragon realized that was almost a month ago. Eventually, the conversation turned in a lighter direction.

"There's something else, too," Arya began. Eragon raised an eyebrow, curious. "Fírnen and I are planning to visit Vroengard again soon." Eragon's heart soared at the news. "We will be leaving in a little while, and we'll stay for a few weeks. Long enough for Fírnen to finish his training with Saphira."

Eragon was ecstatic, but he was careful not to show Arya exactly how excited he was. Calming his racing heart, he managed, "Then Saphira and I will gladly and eagerly await your arrival." Arya beamed, and after continuing their conversation for a while longer, they said their goodbyes and Arya ended the spell. Eragon sighed as her image disappeared from the mirror, and turned to share their exchange with Saphira. Touching her consciousness with his mind, he said gently, _Wake, Saphira. Arya and Fírnen are on their way here._

At the mention of the green dragon, Saphira's eyes snapped open. Her joy that flowed across their mental link was just as great as Eragon's, if not more so. She gazed at him happily, and her humming filled the chamber. _I will go inform the hatchlings, then._ Her voice sounded in his head. _I'm sure they will be looking forward to meeting another member of the new order of Riders._ She walked to the edge of the hold and jumped out, extending her wings and soaring out into the sky. Projecting her thoughts to the other dragons in the spire below Eragon, she joyously shouted, _Wake, little ones! Today, you will be meeting another Rider and dragon! They are Arya and Fírnen, and Arya is the queen of the elves, so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior!_ Then Saphira closed her mind and roared her satisfaction to the sunrise. As she did so, Eragon turned to look at it, and something caught his eye.

Off in the distance, past the coast of the island and several hundred feet in the air, there was a huge, glittering mass that seemed to mirror the sun's growing light. Eragon's heart skipped a beat as he realized what it was.

Like a speck of blood on the horizon, the red dragon Thorn was steadily flapping his way towards New Doru Araeba.

Saphira noticed him a few seconds later. The feelings Eragon received from her were quite mixed, but surprisingly, she was a bit nervous. In a tentative voice, Saphira said, _Today must be reunion day. Have you heard _anything _about Murtagh and Thorn since we parted at the Ramr?_ Eragon shook his head.

_No, but who else could it be?_ he challenged, then relented. _I suppose it could be one of the wild dragons. But if it is, then why is it on its way here? No, I think it is Murtagh. To be completely honest, I'll be glad to see them again. I've been worried about how they've been getting on since we last saw them, and that was seven years ago._

A thought occurred to Saphira, so she cast her mind back into those of the dragons below them and broadcasted, _We have just received word that yet another dragon and Rider are coming. In fact, if you look at the sunrise, you can see them approaching. They will be here in a few minutes, so you have until them to prepare yourselves. And under no circumstances are you to be disrespectful to them. Do you understand?_

_ Yes, ebrithil,_ they chorused, and one by one, the dragons jumped from their caves, half unfurling their wings, and landed in the courtyard. Within a minute, their Riders had joined them, and the three pairs turned to face the eastern sky and the oncoming Rider.

_Are you ready, little one? _Saphira asked in Eragon's mind. He knew what she meant: was he ready to face Murtagh and his red dragon again. Eragon sighed.

_ Do we have a choice?_ he answered.

Saphira grunted, but her response was,_ Then climb onto my back, and let us go greet our old friends!_ Eragon agreed, so he put Saphira's saddle on her and jumped into it. Once he was secure, Saphira sprang from their room in the dragonhold and, with an earth-shaking _boom_, she landed in the eastern courtyard, in front of their pupils. Together, the four pairs of dragons and Riders watched Thorn's outline slowly growing larger.

When the great ruby dragon was close enough to the castle, Murtagh's magically magnified voice rang through the courtyard.

"Brother!" Eragon heard small gasps from behind him, but he ignored them. "I'm sorry it's been so long, but Thorn and I finally found time to visit you. Is there any particular place you would like us to land?" By the time he was finished speaking, they were almost at the walls.

Casting a quick spell to amplify his voice as well, Eragon replied, "Just here in the courtyard, if you wouldn't mind." He cast a quick glance behind him. "There are some people I'd like you to meet."

After circling the dragonhold a few times, Thorn landed in front of Eragon and Saphira with a _thud_ that made the Riders' ears pop. Leaping down from Thorn's back, Murtagh walked up to Eragon and they grasped each other's arms. After some hesitation, and to his half-brother's surprise, Eragon pulled Murtagh into a hug. When they released, Eragon took some time to study him.

It appeared after some scrutiny that the seven years since Galbatorix's death had been kind to Murtagh. He looked much better than he had immediately following the battle of Urû-baen, and a small smile graced his face from his reunion with Eragon. His dark hair was groomed and smooth, and he exuded and air of inner confidence that Eragon thought he had lacked previously.

Eragon returned Murtagh's smile. "Welcome to New Doru Araeba, brother," he announced, spreading his arms to indicate the castle around them and the keep behind them.

Murtagh chuckled slightly at the mention of the name. "New Doru Araeba?" he snickered softly. "I thought you were more creative than that, Eragon." Eragon shrugged in response.

Remembering the students behind him, he said, "Ah, but where are my manners?" He turned and indicated the young Riders and dragons behind him. "Murtagh, I'd like you to meet Gorikk, Dargath, Laëra, Sílhana, Kuren, and Narrvel." He pointed to each one as he named them. "Riders, this is Murtagh, my half-brother, and his dragon, Thorn. You owe them your lives, for it was these two who allowed myself and Arya to kill Galbatorix and his black dragon." The students twisted their hands over their chests in the gesture of respect and greeted him, their eyes widening with admiration at the words. Murtagh bowed stiffly in response.

Eragon turned back to Murtagh to say something, but as he turned, Thorn shifted, and he paused. Much to his surprise, Thorn bent his neck and placed his snout gently on Eragon's brow. He felt the dragon's consciousness touch his mind, so he lowered his barriers, and Thorn's deep voice echoed through his head. _Greetings, Eragon, brother-of-my-Rider. I am glad to see you again. Though we did not speak much when last we met, I hope to get to know you better while we are here. Murtagh has said much about you._

Eragon grinned at the words. _Then I will gladly anticipate conversing with you,_ he replied, and Thorn withdrew from his mind. To Murtagh, Eragon said, "We have much to talk about, brother. I would hear of your experiences since we parted all those years ago."

Murtagh nodded. "Most of it was uneventful, but you shall hear the tale in due time," he responded. "Later tonight, I would also know of what has transpired in your life since then." Eragon returned the nod.

They continued to talk for a few more minutes, and Eragon was delighted to find that, as far as he could tell, Murtagh was mostly back to his old self, as he had been before he was captured and enslaved by Galbatorix. Eventually, Eragon got around to telling Murtagh that Arya and Fírnen were also going to be there later that day. His half-brother was glad to be able to see her again, and Eragon could tell that Murtagh and Thorn were both looking forward to meeting Fírnen.

Finally, Saphira showed Murtagh and Thorn to one of the "distinguished guest Riders" chamber in the dragonhold spire, and Eragon turned to his students.

"Feel free to take today and be with your partners," he said. "I'm giving you the day off. The one thing I ask is that you report here to the eastern courtyard at sundown, so that you can meet the elven queen and her dragon." The Riders' faces lit up at the prospect of a day to themselves, so they mounted their dragons and separated. Narrvel took off and flew to the north, towards Lodarí Lake in the mountains. Dargath also took off, but he angled towards the clearing where Eragon had the young Riders meditate. Sílhana flapped a few times to gain enough height, and then dove into her cave on the spire with Laëra on her back.

Eragon, meanwhile, had much to discuss with Murtagh. Drawing from the energy he stored in the sapphire on Brisingr's pommel, Eragon cast a short spell, and soon, he had flown up to join Thorn and his Rider in one of the uppermost rooms of the tower. Eragon began their discussion, starting with his decision to not leave Alagaësia. He told of how they had purged the poison from Vroengard and built New Doru Araeba. He gave a quick account of the constant struggle to help the broken Eldunarí and finished with a short summary of his time since the Riders-to-be arrived.

Murtagh had a far less interesting story to tell. He explained that when they had left Eragon and Saphira at the Ramr River, they had flown northwest until they reached an open plain that was past Palancar Valley and the western edge of Du Weldenvarden. They had set to work building a castle that wasn't overly large or splendid, but that was big enough to have room for several dragons, in case someone came to visit. The rest of the story was brief, for Murtagh did not wish to elaborate on their attempts to sort out their thoughts and feelings, and Eragon had no desire to pry them for answers.

By the time Murtagh finished his recollections, the bottom edge of the sun was almost brushing the horizon, and Eragon could hear the flapping of dragon wings as his students returned from their day off. With a jolt, he realized what time it was, so he gazed towards the eastern horizon, hoping that he wouldn't be disappointed.

He was not. It was not long before his searching eyes found what he was looking for: a sparkling green dragon was just crossing over the mountain border, winging its way towards New Doru Araeba.

Eragon's heart fluttered. It was over a year since he had last seen Arya in person; for the most part, she limited her visits to Vroengard to once a year, but with her duties as queen of the elves, she had been unable to get away from Ellesméra until now.

To Murtagh, Eragon said, "It seems that our other guests have arrived." Murtagh turned, and he smiled as he saw the brilliant emerald dragon drawing closer to the castle. Eragon quickly contacted Saphira, who was lounging in their hold, and stated simply, _They're here._ As soon as he said the words, a great bugle of joy rang out from above him. Saphira flew out of their chamber and hovered outside Murtagh and Thorn's. With a nod to Murtagh, Eragon turned and sprinted to the mouth of the cave and jumped onto Saphira's back. She roared with joy once more, and took off to meet Fírnen; she couldn't bear to wait any longer. Inwardly, Eragon shared the sentiment.

It didn't take long for the two dragons to meet, and they landed in a clearing a few miles away from the castle. Jumping down from Saphira's back, Eragon raced towards Arya, even as she dismounted Fírnen. When they reached each other in the middle of the clearing, they embraced. Next to them, the two dragons, emerald and sapphire, curled together, and the clearing was filled with their combined humming.

As Arya separated from him, she began their meeting as she had earlier that morning, touching the first two fingers of her right to her lips and uttering the first line of the traditional elvish greeting. After they had finished the greeting, a warm smile crept across Arya's face, and she said, "It is great to finally see you in person again. It's been far too long."

"That it has, Your Majesty," Eragon agreed wholeheartedly, and he grinned at Arya's reaction to his use of the title.

"You know I hate it when you say that, Eragon," she frowned. "You are not one of my subjects."

Eragon didn't bother to apologize for his jibe. Instead, he said, "Shall I show you to the castle now? An old friend has stopped by for a visit."

The elf queen nodded, and the smile returned to her face. "I would very much like that," Arya replied. "May I ask which friend?" Eragon's eyes twinkled, but he would not answer her, much to her frustration.

The couple walked over to their dragons. Eragon flushed slightly as he touch Saphira's mind. _Saphira_. She ignored him. _Saphira!_ he repeated, louder. Her enormous head turned towards him and her voice responded in his head.

_What?_ Eragon could sense her annoyance through their link.

_If you can stand to refrain from cuddling with Fírnen for a few minutes, we would like to return to the castle._ At that, Saphira seemed to remember herself.

_Ah, right, sorry,_ she murmured, her embarrassment clear in her tone. She separated from Fírnen and Eragon climbed onto her back, Arya doing the same with the green dragon. Together, they soared back west, to New Doru Araeba.

The young students were waiting there for them when the two dragons touched down in the eastern courtyard. Eragon leapt down from Saphira's back. Arya mirrored his action, and walked towards him and the other Riders.

"Riders," Eragon announced. "This is Arya, the queen of the elves, and her dragon, Fírnen. Arya, these are my apprentices." He introduced each of them to Arya, including their dragons, and then he dismissed them for the night. "But be sure you're ready to continue where we left off tomorrow morning," he reminded them, and the young Riders returned to their quarters.

After that, Eragon turned to Arya with a smile on his face. "Now," he said. "You asked who the old friend is? Follow me." He jumped back into Saphira's saddle and she took off, flapping until she reached her and Eragon's room. He had told Murtagh before they left to be there when they got back, because it was the only chamber in the tower that was big enough for all three dragons and their Riders.

As Fírnen glided in through the open mouth of the cave and Arya saw Murtagh leaning up against Thorn's bulky foreleg, she gasped. Eragon couldn't tell if it was a good surprise or a bad surprise. But as Arya hopped down from her dragon's back and smiled at Murtagh, he thought, _Good surprise, I guess_, and he grinned.

Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, but Arya beat him to it. "Have you had enough time?" she inquired softly. Her meaning was clear to Murtagh, and he nodded.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "And it's good to see you again, Arya," he added with a smile, and turned to Fírnen. "I don't believe we've been introduced," he said to the green dragon, and bowed. "Murtagh and Thorn, at your service."

Fírnen grunted at Thorn, and then turned his head to gaze at Murtagh. Eragon didn't know what passed between them – Fírnen had opened his mind only to Murtagh – but he could wager a good guess that Fírnen had just introduced himself, for Murtagh bowed again and said, "It is an honor to meet you, Fírnen."

The three friends spent the next several hours sharing their experiences and recalling old memories, while Fírnen snuggled up to Saphira, and the two tentatively struck up a conversation with Thorn. After a while, the red dragon seemed to warm to them.

When Murtagh finally departed from Eragon's chamber to return to his own, Eragon realized that he was exhausted. Arya and Fírnen had elected to stay in his room – for obvious reasons – and so Eragon spent a little more time talking with the elf queen. The two dragons, however, had little to say; they laid down together, and eventually, they fell asleep.

Once the dragons had gone to sleep, Eragon found it hard to stay awake. Eventually, he sat leaning against Saphira's foreleg, and Arya sat with her head on his shoulder, and he fell into his waking dreams. It was the happiest Eragon had been in a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you enjoyed that last chapter! Sorry that there hasn't been much action, hopefully that will change in the next few chapters. I'm just a bit wary of starting the conflict/plot off too quickly, I feel like it needs more exposition. In any case, thanks for reading and I hope you like Chapter 2. As always, I'd appreciate a quick review, it helps more than you might think. Thanks!**

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CHAPTER 2

The next morning, Eragon was awoken by his timepiece just after sunrise. The first thing he noticed was Arya's fresh pine smell and the comfortable weight of her head on his shoulder. Eragon stood carefully to avoid waking her and leaned her head on Saphira's leg, the same position he had been in. Then he walked to one of the room's openings and jumped.

As he neared the ground, Eragon muttered a few words in the ancient language, and his descent slowed until he touched down – feet first – on the ground of the north courtyard. Turning to face the keep, he briskly walked inside, heading for the sparring hall.

Eragon entered the huge room and he was pleased to see that his students were already there, practicing their swordplay with each other. When he arrived, they paused to bow to him and greet him as he had taught them.

Once the pleasantries were completed, Eragon queried, "Would one of you like to cross blades with me?"

It was the elf, Laëra, who spoke up. "It would be an honor to spar with you, ebrithil," she answered.

Eragon nodded, drew Brisingr, and blocked its edges. Laëra had already protected her sword, since she had been sparring with Kuren. The sword was a beautiful purple, but the color undulated and shifted, sometimes appearing lavender, sometimes a deeper purple. It was a Rider's sword, and Laëra had named it Ramir.

The two Riders circled each other warily. Laëra began the fight with a two-handed swing at Eragon's head. As he brought Brisingr up to block it, he noticed a slight shift in Laëra's footing. She stopped Ramir mid-swing and spun, this time striking at his right knee. Eragon dropped Brisingr down to his leg, almost lazily, and turned it, deflecting Ramir off to the side. With a deft flick of his wrist and a quick movement, Eragon sent Ramir flying out of Laëra's hand.

She and the other apprentices were somewhat shocked at how quickly the duel had ended. Eragon had defeated Laëra after only one blow from his opponent. Remembering her manners, Laëra began to bow, but Eragon waved her off. Ignoring her slightly confused look, he turned to the other two apprentices. "Anyone else like to have a go?" he asked, casually twirling Brisingr in his hands. Gorikk and Kuren seemed to be embarrassed, but neither of them spoke up.

Eragon laughed, a musical peal that echoed and bounced around the room. "There is no shame in avoiding a battle you know you cannot win!" he smiled, and the young Riders seemed to relax. Then a new voice rang out from the entrance of the sparring hall.

"I would gladly duel with you, brother," Murtagh said, for it was he. Eragon's face brightened. It had been a long time since he had dueled with his brother. Seven years… Eragon shivered as a painful memory rose unbidden to the front of his mind.

_Murtagh lunged toward him, swinging Zar'roc at his gut, and Eragon skipped backward, barely parrying the red sword._

_ Eragon replied with a looping, overhead blow – he allowed his hand to slide down to Brisingr's pommel to give himself more reach – and Murtagh danced out of the way._

_ They both paused to see if the other would attack again. When neither did, they resumed circling, Eragon more wary than before._

_ From their exchange, it was obvious that Murtagh was still as fast and as strong as Eragon – or an elf. Galbatorix's prohibition on the use of magic apparently did not extended to the spells that fortified Murtagh's limbs. For selfish reasons, Eragon disliked the king's edict, but he could understand the rationale behind it; the fight would hardly have been fair otherwise._

_ Murtagh feinted with his left shoulder, and Eragon ducked behind his shield. An instant later, he realized that it had been a ruse and that Murtagh was moving around toward his right in an attempt to get past his guard._

_ Eragon twisted and saw Zar'roc arcing toward his neck, the edge a glittering, wire-thin line. He knocked it aside with a clumsy push of Brisingr's crossguard. Then he retaliated with a quick slash at Murtagh's lower arm. To his grim delight, he struck Murtagh on the side of his wrist._

Eragon shook his head to dispel the flashback. It was in the past now; Galbatorix was no more, and the two brothers would not be trying to kill each other this time. Trying to bring himself back to the present, Eragon managed, "It would be a pleasure to spar with you again, Murtagh." Murtagh nodded, drew Zar'roc, and quickly blocked the sword's edges.

The two brothers circled each other, warily studying the other's pose. Eragon twitched his right arm forward, causing Murtagh to flinch. In an instant, Eragon was on him, swinging Brisingr in a complex series of blows in an attempt to force him into creating an opening. Murtagh appeared momentarily stunned by Eragon's onslaught – he barely managed to bring Zar'roc up to parry the first few strikes – but it did not take him overly long to recover from his initial surprise. After blocking Brisingr a few more times, Murtagh went on the attack.

The duel seemed to last for an eternity. Occasionally, it appeared that Murtagh had the upper hand, and at other times, Eragon seemed to be winning, but neither brother could gain the advantage for more than a few seconds.

Finally, a voice cried, "Enough!" The two Riders paused. Eragon glanced over at the door to see Arya's silhouette framed in the light from the hallway. She had her hands on her hips and a disapproving look on her face. "Are you two trying to kill each other?" She glared at them. "Do you know how long you've been fighting? _An hour and a half_!" Murtagh and Eragon looked at each other, incredulous.

"Sorry?" Eragon offered weakly.

"We, uh," Murtagh hesitated. "We lost track of time."

At first, Arya was reluctant to accept their profuse apologies, but in the end, she acknowledged that they had become swept up in the fight and had not bothered to notice how long it had been.

Trying to steer the conversation away from the duel, Eragon asked, "Have you heard any news of Surda's new ruler?"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at that. "A new Surdan ruler?" he questioned. "What happened to Orrin?"

"You didn't hear? He fell ill and died a couple of days ago," Arya answered. Then to Eragon: "To answer your question, yes, I have. Nasuada contacted me just this morning, in fact, to tell me that Mareth has indeed been crowned king of Surda." Murtagh frowned.

"I thought Orrin had a son…" Murtagh trailed off as he answered his own confusion. "Ah, that's right. He's only, what, seven? Yes, of course they'd have to choose someone different. Who is this Mareth guy?"

"He was Orrin's second-in-command and the main general of his forces after his other general was killed during the battle of Urû-baen," Arya replied. "Other than that, I don't know very much about him."

Eragon gave a wry smile. "Well he can't be worse than Orrin, right?" he half-joked.

Arya grunted but gave no other response. For a moment, a slightly awkward silence prevailed, and with a jolt, Eragon remembered his students were still in the room. Clearing his throat, he suggested an idea for the day's event. "How about a day trip to Lodarí Lake? It'll give you guys some bonding time and some time to become acquainted with Arya and Murtagh and their dragons." Everyone thought it was a great idea, so they called their dragons down to the courtyard.

Within moments of each other, six dragons dove from their chambers and, with a great _whoosh_, six pairs of wings beat together as the great beasts slowed their descent to the ground. The force of the impact of all six dragons landing in the courtyard caused the very air to vibrate around them.

Together, the Riders mounted their dragons and took off towards the north, and the mountains. On their way to the lake, Eragon gazed at his trainees, and an enormous feeling of pride welled up in his chest. It warmed his heart to watch the younglings interacting with their partners and companions, and using the knowledge he had given them. Eragon especially enjoyed watching them together with their dragons, because he knew – and he knew that they knew as well – that the bond shared between a dragon and its Rider was indescribable. To have someone who loved you despite your faults, that supported you no matter what, and that _understood_ your very being… such was the inseparable connection that every Rider cherished.

A short while after leaving New Doru Araeba, a strong, favorable wind sprang up, considerably speeding the dragons. Eragon estimated that they'd be able to reach it in just under an hour. With his mind, he broadcasted the message to the other Riders – the wind and the flapping of the dragon's wings were too loud for him to communicate vocally – but it was mainly for Murtagh and Arya's benefit, as he knew that they had not been to the lake before. Therefore, he was mildly surprised when he found out that Kuren had never been their either, despite living on the island for over a year.

Eragon's guess turned out to be spot-on. The sun was just over halfway toward its zenith when the six companions reached Lodarí Lake.

The lake was nestled in the foot of the mountains that surrounded the flat forest plateau in the center of the island. The sparkling blue water was so still that the reflections of the majestic mountains rising all around them never wavered in the slightest.

The day passed quickly for all those involved. It was spent, for the most part, fishing, eating, talking, and in general, enjoying a well-earned day of relaxation. However, the three students did not entirely escape their lessons; Eragon quizzed them on spells, incantations, and various words and niceties of the ancient language, for, as he said, "If I give you too many days off, you'll forget it all in a heartbeat."

After lecturing his pupils, Eragon was engaged for the rest of the day conversing with Thorn. To his immense delight, he found that the great red dragon had quite the sense of humor. In fact, Eragon was a bit surprised at how similar he was to Saphira. The two talked for hours, amusing themselves with the conversation they shared. Eventually, the sun dipped below the ridge of the mountains to the west and sank past the horizon, plunging the world into night.

That night, the moon was full, and the stars were particularly bright. Lounging against one of Saphira's massive forelegs, Eragon felt truly at home. With his students, his love, his dragon, and his brother, Eragon was relaxed and carefree.

The six Riders built a fire pit, and Murtagh lit it with a quick muttering of "brisingr." After a time, Gorikk posed a rather cautious question. "Firesword," he rumbled. "Will you tell us your story of Galbatorix's defeat?"

Despite the heat given off by the fire, Eragon shivered. In his peripheral vision, he saw Murtagh and Arya give similar reactions. "Eventually yes, Gorikk, I will share that tale with you," Eragon replied, "but not tonight, and not until your training is nearly complete. For me, the wounds are still too near." Gorikk nodded, struggling to suppress his curiosity. He didn't bother to argue; if Eragon did not want to tell them something, then nothing you said or did would make him change his mind.

So instead, the two generations of Riders relaxed in silence, until it came time to return to New Doru Araeba. Once they arrived, everyone was quick to retire to their chambers, for they knew that tomorrow, their rigorous schedule of training would resume.

By unspoken consent, Arya and Fírnen joined Eragon and Saphira in their gigantic cavern. The two dragon mates curled up together and fell soundly asleep within minutes.

As Eragon sat with his back propped against Saphira's chest, Arya sat next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Quietly, so as not to disturb the dragons, she said, "I'm worried, Eragon." The blue Rider looked at her in surprise. Ignoring it, she continued. "I'm worried about Surda. Yes, Orrin was a selfish fool and an ingrate, but at least he understood the importance of loyalty in the beginning months of the Empire. You may not know this, since you've been secluded on the island all these years, but Orrin did eventually get over his conflict with Nasuada. Just a few months ago, he became one of her most staunch supporters. I'm afraid that without his influence, Surda could destabilize, which could cause damage to the Empire as well." Eragon nodded. He'd had similar thoughts himself, since Arya had delivered the news of Orrin's death. "But there's another thing," Arya added. Eragon raised his eyebrow. "Call it whatever you will, but I have a strange feeling that there could be more to Orrin's death than meets the eye. After all, like I said, it was recently that he began to seriously support Nasuada. And then, a few months later, he falls ill and dies, just like that? No, I suspect there is more going on than what anyone realizes."

Eragon remained silent, but her words troubled him. The main reason was that everything she said made sense. He shifted subtly, attempting to find a more comfortable position, and then he rubbed his temples. "I agree; it _is_ worrisome," he admitted. "But let's not dwell on it tonight. Today was a day of sharing and enjoying each other's company – let's not mar it with a conversation as dark as that one." She consented, and soon, the two Dragon Riders had fallen into a deep and contented sleep.

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**Well there it is: chapter two. I really hope you guys liked it! I realize it's only about half as long as the first chapter, but it is very hard for me to write expositional chapters with 5k+ words. That being said, most chapters will probably be around 2-3k words, unless I get inspired to do another 5k one. Also, something else I forgot to address earlier: I'm going to try to update twice a week, but I don't know how long I'll be able to keep that up. However, I **_**DO**_** promise to at least post one chapter each week. Again, hope you enjoyed that chapter; please review! **

**Next chapter will be quite an interesting POV, and I'll finally start introducing the conflict/plot/whatever you want to call it. See you next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alrighty, here it is… chapter three! As I promised, you'll be treated to a point of view that you might find surprising. As always, please review, I greatly appreciate the feedback, and my thanks go out to the few who have already done so. Yet another thing I forgot to mention: if anyone is interested in being a beta/editor, please shoot me a PM. Thanks! Now let's get on with the chapter, and I hope you enjoy!**

CHAPTER 3

Mareth groaned. _It's the smell_, he decided. The rank odor of the humans penetrated every corner of the crowded Surdan capital, Aberon. In the end, the only way he found he could abate his longing to wipe out every one of them was to remind himself of his purpose. His racing heart would soon calm, and he would go back to ignoring the filthy stench. Eventually, it would become unbearable once more, and the cycle would repeat itself.

But in all seriousness, Mareth didn't mind that much. It was a small price to pay for the reward he would end up reaping when his plan came to fruition. Already, he had set the first events in motion, and even now, the Surdan army, _his_ army, was mustering in the plains to the west of the capital city.

In Mareth's mind, because of he was, and what happened to his race, he felt he had been robbed of the throne, and that he deserved the right to rule Alagaësia. After all, his people were the first ones to ever inhabit the continent. Didn't that make him Alagaësia's rightful king?

Mareth's musings reminded him that he had a job to do. Rising from his throne, on which he had been lounging lazily, he set off down the hall into the bowels of the castle. Along the way, he encountered numerous servants, all of whom hastily bowed and cowered as he walked past. He sneered at their sniveling. Mareth walked until he found one of the main staircases, and he started the long trod downwards, every step steadily leading him deeper and deeper into the ground.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, Mareth arrived at the deepest section of the castle, nearly six hundred feet beneath the earth. The bricks here were clean and unblemished, for Mareth had ordered this division of the castle secretly built only two months ago, without the king's knowledge. Mareth grinned evilly as he thought of Orrin. He was a bumbling fool, and a weak one at that. It had been a good idea from Amadeus to kill him with poison. This particular venom caused a seemingly natural death; it operated slowly enough to appear as a common illness, but fast enough that no healers would be able to identify and cure before it ran its course.

As he walked further and further down the gently sloping hall, a cacophony of snores and growls met his ears. Mareth grimaced. This was part of the reason he had wanted the section built so far underground. He would not have been happy if the extremely loud noises had drawn someone to his precious treasures before he was ready to begin his plan.

Eventually, the long hallway ended in an enormous room, at least two hundred feet wide and three hundred feet long. The back wall was so far away that it was obscured by the looming shadows; the ceiling was just low enough that with his powerful eyesight, Mareth could barely make out its outline high above.

But what captured his attention the most was the beast that lay, resting, on its stomach. In the dim light given off by the few torches that lined the walls, the beast's glittering bronze scales made him look as though he was covered in rust. His bulky forelegs rippled with muscles, and his curtain-like wings stretched far up towards the ceiling, hundreds of feet away. His tail restlessly lashed back and forth, and as Mareth approached, he opened one startlingly grey eye and stared at him.

This was Mareth's prized secret. This was what would allow him to rise up in rebellion and crush the weak empress Nasuada, securing the Empire in his power. For this… was a wild dragon.

Mareth had been pleased to discover that, after killing Galbatorix and finding hundreds more dragon eggs, the Rider Eragon and his dragon Saphira had flown around for days, placing the eggs in the wild in various places and allowing them to hatch. Two years ago, Mareth had found this bronze dragon resting in a cave in the Beors. Because he had never been as skilled as brothers in manipulating magic (he had never received the training that the others had been given), he knew that what he was about to do would leave him exhausted for the next several days, but he managed to bind the dragon to him. He had gotten the idea for that from Galbatorix and the unnatural bond he had created between the black king and Shruikan. Nearly fainting from exhaustion, he had still had the energy to look for one more dragon – for his most loyal and most powerful magician, Aris – and had come across a stunning teal beast. He knew he didn't have the strength to cast another, separate bonding spell, so he enslaved the teal with an extension of the magic he had used previously.

It had taken almost all of the two years, but Mareth, Aris, and Aris' slightly younger twin Amadeus managed to educate the dragons based on what they knew about Riders dragons. They also tried to give them training when they could, but it was difficult, because Mareth did not want them to be seen; he feared that he would lose the advantage of surprise, so he had kept them hidden for two years, secretly instructing them in combat, preparing them for his plans. The bronze dragon Mareth had named Könungr, which meant 'king' in the ancient language, for Mareth intended to use the dragon to make himself king. Aris opted for a less ambitious name, eventually choosing Vakana.

Mareth had been planning this for years, and even before he conceived his plot, he had spent millennia in hiding, biding his time. Now, he was finally ready to begin.

Mareth climbed into Könungr's saddle and snapped his fingers. With a sound of rushing air, the two dragons turned invisible. Mareth guided them up to a cleverly disguised passage in the ceiling and they emerged into the glaring afternoon sunlight.

Flying towards his army, invisible, on the back of his also invisible dragon, Mareth contemplated his strategies. In essence, four major cities stood between him and the capital, Illirea: Aroughs, Feinster, Belatona, and Dras-Leona. Of those, Aroughs was the closest, so Mareth would strike the port city first. From there, he would work his way north, to Feinster, Belatona, and eventually Dras-Leona. Once he held those cities, he would be ready to march on Illirea.

If all went well, Mareth hoped to capture at least Aroughs and Feinster before the Empire realized what was going on. Once they did, he was sure they would send the Riders to crush him. Mareth grinned evilly. Whichever Rider they throw at him would get more than they bargained for.

Underneath him, Könungr blew a puff of smoke from his nostrils, accompanied by a soft growl. His master's wicked excitement bled across their artificial link, filling the bronze dragon with a desire to kill. Mareth's grin widened. When it came time to reveal their presence and fight, Könungr's insatiable bloodlust combined with the instincts and ferocity of a wild dragon would make him a nearly undefeatable enemy.

After a few more hours of travel, the large orange mass that was Surda's army finally came into sight. Mareth's heart skipped a beat. There were far, far more soldiers gathered here than he had ever dared to hope for.

At least sixty thousand troops were camped throughout the vast plain. A command pavilion had been erected in the center. Dozens of messengers scurried in and out, like so many bees bring honey back to their hive.

Mareth looked around for a bit before spotting an empty patch of land far enough from the army for Könungr to remain unnoticed; even when he was invisible, his sounds could still be heard, and a careless soldier or messenger could unknowingly collide with him. Thus, Mareth needed to keep him isolated from the rest of his forces.

_Land there_, Mareth ordered, sending an image of the unoccupied piece of land to Könungr. The bronze dragon grunted in affirmation, angling towards it. In an attempt to minimize the effect of his landing – so as not to be discovered – Könungr extended his wings and slowed exponentially, softly touching down on the dew-covered spring grass. _Don't leave this area_, Mareth warned. _And stay away from anyone else_.

_Very well_, Könungr replied, so Mareth jumped from his back and set off towards the command tent.

When he arrived, Mareth released the invisibility spell he had cast on himself, but left its effects on Könungr. He was not yet ready to reveal the bronze dragon that was his ace-in-the-hole. Mareth shimmered back into being and strutted into the tent.

Three men were hunched around a table with a large map on it. Aris, Mareth's best spellcaster, stood on the left side of the table. He had dirty blond hair and eyebrows. His skin was a light tan, and his ice-blue eyes burned with a fierce longing for more power. To his left, at the center of the table, was Amadeus, the twin brother of Aris. The only difference between the two was their eyes; Amadeus had hazel eyes that were constantly darting around, as if he was eternally paranoid of an attack. The last man was Taerian.

Taerian was an enigma, even to Mareth. He had the burly look of a warrior, but his face was surprisingly soft. Mareth had learned long ago that despite his peaceful look, Taerian despised the Empire, and this was why Mareth employed him as the general of his army. The other reason was that he was a gifted leader, and the soldiers would do anything for him. Other than that, Mareth knew next to nothing about him, so he kept a close eye on the strange man. All three were dressed for war.

Even though Mareth did not exactly respect his trio of commanders, he did not demand nearly as much groveling from them as with his servants and slaves. He allowed them much more leniency, and he _did_ trust them. However, he was still careful around Taerian, despite the general's nearly three years of service.

As he entered the command tent, Mareth was again assaulted by the smell. This time, the usual human stench was mixed with the stink of sweaty armor, and, layered through it all, he smelled fear. The odoriferous combination of smells made him want to gag. Suppressing the bile that rose in his throat, Mareth asked, "Is the full host gathered?"

Aris bowed to him. "Yes, my lord," he answered. "The last battalion arrived just hours ago. The army numbers sixty-four thousand, two hundred and fifty-eight."

A slow smile spread across the Surdan king's face. "Excellent!" he crowed. "It is finally time, then. Order the men to move out. We march to Aroughs!" Aris bowed again and exited the tent.

**HORIZONTAL LINE HERE**

Two days later, the Surdans arrived at Aroughs.

For any normal army, the city would have been nigh on impregnable. Of course, everyone had heard the story of how Roran Stronghammer had conquered the city in less than a week with only a thousand men, and so Mareth was confident he would be in control of the city by the end of the day.

Even though they now faced their first conquest, Mareth was reluctant to use his secret weapons so early in their campaigns. _I can't risk anyone finding out about them before the Riders do_, he thought. _Otherwise, I will never be able to lure them into my trap_. So he decided that he would leave Könungr and Vakana out of the upcoming battle.

In the morning of the day they arrived, Mareth addressed his army outside the great white walls of Aroughs. "Soldiers of Surda!" he boomed, his voice magically enhanced so that everyone could hear him. "The day is finally here! Today, we take back the first of many cities that the tyrant Nasuada controls! She has broken her promises to Surda, and she rules the Empire unjustly. That is why we are here, my friends. To avenge this wrong and cast off the shadow of another tyrannical leader! Now fight, and let us take this city!" It was all lies, of course, but the army didn't care. The soldiers cheered, and under the cover of the noise, Mareth leaned to Aris and hissed, "Make sure no one escapes the city or gets a message off. I want no word of this attack spreading." Aris nodded and cast a few wards around the city, preventing them from sending any messages out, be they by magical or mundane means.

As one, the Surdan army charged to the gates of Aroughs. There were three main gates, so the soldiers divided accordingly, with around twenty thousand soldiers going to each gate. At the head of the primary column, Mareth allowed a fierce smile to come across his face. Raising his arms, he carefully dipped into the magic of the world around him.

For Mareth, it was always a struggle to manipulate things in the large ways that his brothers did, but over the millennia, he had improved mightily. Now, he used that knowledge to allow his forces into white-walled port city.

The king of Surda carefully observed the threads of magic swirling within the great gates. He could see the protective enchantments that were woven through the wood to strengthen them, and his fierce smile widened. Mareth crushed the protective spells as if they were ants under his feet, and then slowly broke the bonds that held the wood of the gates together. Without a sound, they simply fell apart. Mareth slumped in the saddle, exhausted, but his job was done. With a deafening roar, the Surdans surged into the city.

The soldiers met little resistance until they reached the keep; Aroughs had not been expecting an attack. Once they got to the citadel, however, the few groups of soldiers there were managed to rally and attempt to fight off the attackers.

It was valiant, but hopeless. Surda outnumbered the Imperials by more than twenty to one. Within a few hours, the Empire's soldiers lay slaughtered in the streets, their blood clogging the sewers. The city of Aroughs belonged to Mareth. In contrast to the city's forces, his army had not suffered many losses.

When Taerian asked what Mareth wanted done with the nobles, Mareth ordered them killed. But the surly general, surprisingly, argued that there really was no reason to dispose of them, and that they should simply be thrown in the dungeons. Eventually, Mareth acquiesced, albeit against his better judgment.

The Surdans spent the night in the city and prepared to leave the next day. Mareth left behind a contingent of five thousand troops to garrison the city, and then the main host departed Aroughs, setting its course for Feinster. Mareth's wicked smirk appeared on his face. Soon, the Empire would be his.

**Chapter 3: complete! Yay! Anyways, I hope you guys liked that chapter. Not every day you get a chapter from the main bad guys POV, eh? In case you were wondering, I included this chapter basically for two reasons: 1) to provide background information about Mareth and his plans, and 2) to show the conquest of Aroughs. To be honest, originally, I was going to include the battle of Feinster in this chapter too, but I decided against it. In fact, I won't actually show that battle at all. Next chapter, we've got another new POV, and hopefully you guys will enjoy it. Anyways, see you next time!**

**P.S. Don't forget, if you wanna be a beta/editor, PM me! I could use the help! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

** First things first: sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, SORRY! The revision for this chapter took a little bit (by that, I mean A LOT) longer than I hoped. But it's done now, so here you go! Review as always, please, and I hope you enjoy!**

** Huge shoutout to Eragon0123, my wonderful beta. You rock dude!**

* * *

CHAPTER 4

The week passed quickly for Murtagh. He had spent his time exploring the depths of New Doru Araeba with Thorn, and conversing with the many inhabitants of the Riders' new home. On his first day at the city, Murtagh met some of the elves that had accompanied Eragon to Vroengard. At first, due to his past actions under Galbatorix, they were somewhat hesitant to speak with him, and others were either disgusted with or indifferent to his presence. But after a few hours, they had managed to put the past behind them, and the red Rider found the elves to be quite affable.

One of them, a young male named Skoïra, had taken a special liking to Murtagh and Thorn. He sympathized with the trials of their challenging life, and bore them no hard feelings for the death of Oromis. Their friendship was quick to form, and about the castle, Skoïra and Murtagh could be seen sparring or conversing frequently.

Occasionally, Murtagh would join Eragon and the elves, teaching the younger Riders in the arts of swordplay and magic. For the first time in his life, Murtagh felt truly _accepted_.

It was a wonderful feeling to him. Throughout his existence, Murtagh had always been despised and rejected simply because he was the son of Morzan. He lived in the shadow of his father's name, but he and Thorn agreed it was time to cast away the darkness; to step into the light, and fulfill their oath as a Rider and dragon. He was not healed, but in time...there was hope he could become whole again.

On the eighth day of Murtagh's residence at New Doru Araeba, it was a cool spring morning like any other. A strong, breeze blew out of the east, knifing through the bundles of clothes the three Riders wore. It created an eerie, foreboding feeling, and a sense of dread settled around the Riders. They were gathered around a large, ornate mirror. Their dragons arched their long necks above them, vying for a better view. The mirror stood at least six feet tall and two feet wide, framed by shimmering sapphire stone. A stoic Nasuada stood within.

The High Queen of Alagaësia stood facing them in what appeared to be her personal chambers. Behind her, Murtagh could see an arching, four-poster bed with billowing maroon curtains. A large mahogany desk sat to it's left, covered in mounds of scrolls, ink bottles, and various texts. Nasuada was dressed in a red satin dress, which billowed around her ankles like cascading waterfalls. A simple pearl necklace adorned her neck. It was as if Murtagh was gazing upon a younger, less worried version of her, when she had first appeared before him in the Varden's dungeons. She had aged, yes, but not as much as he had feared, and it seemed as though the challenges of ruling Alagaësia were not as cumbersome as leading the Varden to war. No, Nasuada seemed to revel in the challenge.

A strange emotion sparked through Murtagh at the sight of her. It was a bit of sorrow, but tinged with longing and admiration. He had grown to love Nasuada over his isolation, but after seven years spent in solitude, Murtagh found himself afraid she had moved on.

Murtagh yanked himself back to the present. It was no use dwelling on things he could do nothing about.

"I wish I brought better tidings, but unfortunately, this is of the utmost importance," Nasuada said, and then she took in a deep breath.

"Early this morning, a messenger arrived on horseback. Before he collapsed from exhaustion, he said, 'Surda has rebelled. Mareth has captured Aroughs and Feinster. Even now, he is preparing his army of some sixty thousand to march from Feinster for Belatona.'

A shiver ran down Murtagh's spine. _Sixty thousand?_ he thought, stunned. The last report they had received from Aberon was that their army numbered in the twenty thousands. Murtagh wondered how Mareth could have kept forty thousand extra troops concealed from the Empire for that long.

Thorn shared Murtagh's shock. _Where could he have found so many men to fight for him? More importantly, how has he concealed such a large number of troops from our sight? _Then he asked, _Why is he doing this? What does he possibly have to gain by attacking the Empire? _Murtagh could not answer that question. "Surely Mareth knows it would only take to crush this rebellion would be to send the Riders to destroy him. Just one Rider by himself (or herself, in Laëra or Arya's case) could easily convince even an army that size to disband.

Murtagh frowned. There was something more to this rebellion than what it appeared to be, but nonetheless, Murtagh knew what had to be done.

The red Rider cleared his throat. "I can't pretend to know what Mareth's doing," he said. "But it's obvious to me that he has some type of advantage only he knows of, something that has made him confident enough to pursue this crusade. With your permission, Thorn and I will fly out to meet Mareth's army at Belatona. With any luck, we'll be able to stop this madness before too much more blood is spilled."

Nasuada nodded once in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Murtagh," she said.

Arya frowned. "Wait a second," she protested. "You can't go by yourself. Who knows what nasty surprises Mareth has for you? I'm sure we all know there's more to this than what we can see." Fírnen dipped his head, the dragon equivalent of a nod.

_I agree_, the emerald dragon said. _It is still too dangerous to fight this army on your own._

Murtagh shrugged. "We have the Eldunarí," he pointed out. "With their strength we may not have to fight at all."

A puff of smoke drifted up from Thorn's nostrils. _I agree that it will be dangerous_, he began, _but we are dragons and Riders. It is our duty to endure danger so that others may not have to, and even so, the Eldunarí are indeed powerful allies. With them, even Mareth and his army would be hard-pressed to stand against us._

Saphira growled her support.

Everyone looked at Eragon expectantly, who heaved a defeated sigh. "Very well," he said at last, concern and trepidation flowing through him.

Nasuada visibly relaxed. "Thank you, all of you," she said sincerely. "Hopefully the next time we speak, it will be under better circumstances." She signaled to her magician, and the mirror reverted to its normal state, reflecting the restless figures before it.

Eragon turned towards his brother. When he spoke, the worry in his voice was all too obvious. "I don't like this," he growled. "You are right: something beyond our sight has been put into play. I know that you have to do this, but please, _please_, be careful. I couldn't stand losing you or Thorn."

Murtagh nodded. "I'll be careful," he promised. "I'll scry you once the fighting is over." Eragon nodded as well, though Murtagh could still he was still loathe to let the red Rider go.

"Let's go retrieve the Eldunarí," Eragon said. "Follow me." The two Riders hopped on their dragons – Arya elected to stay behind – and glided down to the courtyard. As they walked through the vaulting hallways of New Doru Araeba's keep, Murtagh wondered which Eldunarí would be accompanying them.

Eragon led them to a long, winding staircase that was, unfortunately, too small for the dragons to enter, so the Riders continued alone. After a while, they came to a large, open cavern. Large divots, some as tall as Murtagh, were carved into the rock walls. Within them glittered hundreds of gem-like stones, housing the hearts and minds of the dragon race. A throne of iron was nestled in the back of the cavern. An ethereal, amethyst glow surrounded the metal-man who sat upon it.

The sparkling colors cast a rainbow sheen throughout the entire room, mingling with the warm orange light of the fire pit in the center. On the far wall there were dragon eggs, the hatchlings inside slumbering peacefully, waiting for their Riders.

As Murtagh gaped, and Eragon chuckled at his look. "What, did you not know there were this many?" he joked. "If any dragon, in the whole of Alagaësia, ever disgorged their heart of hearts, then it is in this cavern." He spoke a few words in the ancient language, and four Eldunarí floated from their alcoves to land at Murtagh's feet. Eragon said, "I've already spoken to the Eldunarí, and these four have agreed to accompany you. They are Glaedr, Bovin, Jarna, and Taldor." Murtagh flinched when Eragon said the name of the old dragon, and Murtagh looked at the large golden heart of hearts with deep regret.

He flinched again as he felt a vast consciousness touch his mind. Cautiously, he lowered his barriers, and Glaedr's voice spoke in his mind. _Murtagh_, he rumbled. _When Eragon explained the situation to me, I volunteered for this mission to show you that I bear you no ill will. It is as I have said before: I cannot forgive, but I can understand, and I know that it was Galbatorix who swung your arm. Let us work together to defeat this rebellion. _

Murtagh was a bit touched by the golden dragon's words. _Thank you, Glaedr-elda_, he replied respectfully. _It is truly an honor._

Eragon had been monitoring the exchange – he had still had doubts about the reason for Glaedr's volunteering to go with Murtagh – and as it concluded, he said, "Except for Glaedr, the other Eldunarí belonged to Rider's dragons that were somewhat young when they died. I'm sorry about that, but they were the most eager to help, so I let them."

Murtagh brushed aside Eragon's apology. "These four should be more than enough," he assured him. "And if they really are that excited as I, then that makes all the better. And, I've had enough time to store energy in Zar'roc's ruby over the years. It shouldn't be a problem."

Eragon nodded, though Murtagh could tell he was still uneasy. Murtagh packed the Eldunarí into woolen bags, and the two brothers left the cavern.

When they emerged from the hidden entrance, Eragon murmured, "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Murtagh." Murtagh was somewhat surprised, but graciously accept his brother's blessing and returned it. Then he mounted Thorn, and with three flaps of his great wings, the crimson dragon was over the wall and carrying his Rider toward the battle that awaited them.

* * *

It took Thorn the rest of the day to cross the sea that separated Vroengard from the Alagaësian mainland. They stayed the night on the coast, halfway between Teirm and Narda.

Though they did not keep a watch – as both wanted to keep up their energy for the upcoming fight – Murtagh cast wards to protect them. The Eldunarí offered their energy to him, and his body shivered as the enormous current of power flowed through him. Quickly, he cast the spells for the night, binding them to Glaedr.

When they awoke the next morning, Thorn angled to the southeast, heading towards Leona Lake

_We could feed you a constant stream of energy_, Glaedr said to Thorn at one point. _You would be able to fly continuously until we reached the city._

_We will need your energy once we get there, Glaedr-elda_, the ruby dragon argued, _as much as we will need our own. No, save your strength, for now. If we decide that we need to get there faster than the pace we have set, then you may give me enough energy to make the trip there in one flight._ Glaedr conceded the point and fell silent.

As dawn approached, Murtagh decided to check on the progress of Mareth's army. Using a special variant of scrying that Eragon had taught him, Murtagh was satisfied to discover that the Surdans looked to be a day-and-a-half's march from Belatona. Flying on Thorn, the dragon and his Rider would likely be able to get there before sunset. Ending the spell, Murtagh expanded his mind to encompass Glaedr. _I don't think we'll need the energy you offered_, he said,_ Mareth is still a day-and-a-half away from the city, whereas Thorn can make the flight in just under a day._

_Very well_, the Glaedr replied, and they set off again.

Along the final leg of their voyage, Murtagh spent time conversing with the other Eldunarí that had volunteered to accompany them. Taldor was rather secluded, preferring to keep to himself, but the other dragons were quite sociable, and Murtagh quickly grew to like them. Bovin was his favorite: he was quite amiable, with a wry sense of humor that appealed to him. He found out that Jarna, the other Eldunarí he carried with him, had been Bovin's mate when they were alive. They talked until the sun was just starting to kiss the horizon, and Thorn could make out the city walls under the sun's glare.

Inside the city, soldiers of the Empire scurried around as they attempted to prepare the city for the assault that would take place the next day. From the, Murtagh counted nearly thirty thousand warriors.

The red Rider frowned. The ground forces would be outnumbered almost two to one, so he would have to do all that he could to even the odds. As he watched the activity in the city, another unidentifiable feeling rose to his chest. He couldn't describe it, exactly, but he still wanted to prove to them that he could be trusted, that they had nothing to fear. Since it was his first time back in the Empire since his seclusion – Vroengard did not count – he hoped the soldiers would not be spooked and attack them at first sight.

His fears turned out to be justified. With a cry, the red-clad soldiers on the walls began to gather their weapons and aim their bows up at Thorn's glittering form. Magically enhancing his voice, Murtagh cried, "Peace, soldiers of Nasuada's Empire! You have no cause for alarm. I am not here to harm you; I came to defend this city from the rebelling Surdan army!" Most of the faces still looked skeptical, until an officer ordered them to lower their weapons. As Thorn landed, the soldiers gathered around, waiting to glimpse their first dragon in many years. The soldiers let out a great cheer. Tales of the blood-red dragon and his Rider would be sung in taverns across Belatona.

Murtagh dismounted him and was greeted by the governor of the city, a man named Favian Moroney. Favian was a heavy set man of middle age. A mop of brown hair adorned his head, outlining his chubby face. After the formalities were out of the way, and Murtagh ate his dinner, he decided to go ahead and sleep. He would need his energy for tomorrow.

* * *

At dawn, Murtagh stood on the ramparts of Belatona's walls and found the Surdan army camped out a couple of miles outside the city. Thorn lay draped across the wall next to him, basking in the rising sun's rays.

_At least one of us is happy_, Murtagh thought, looking at his crimson dragon. Upon seeing the size of the army they faced, his doubts had returned in full force. How could they hope to defeat sixty thousand soldiers when they had only half that amount?

Murtagh pushed those thoughts aside. He could not afford to be distracted before a battle as significant as this one. For if Belatona fell… Murtagh shook his head, trying to ignore the voices in the back of his head, the discordant chorus that constantly reiterated his doubts. His uneasiness stemmed from his involvement with Galbatorix; this situation reminded him too much of the Varden's conquering of Dras-Leona seven years ago. They had snatched the city from Murtagh's grasp, and he was afraid the same thing would happen here.

Thorn, on the other hand, was quite relaxed. He sensed his Rider's distress and deigned to speak. _Enough. Do not doubt yourself. We are not who we once were. _A ruby eye settled on Murtagh. _We are stronger and have learned from our mistakes. We will not make them again._ Murtagh was somewhat surprised when he realized that Thorn was actually looking forward to the battle. It had been a while since he had been in a real fight, especially one for a major city like Belatona. The opportunities to fight battles such as this were rare nowadays, so Thorn intended to enjoy it while he could.

Murtagh shook his head, smiling ruefully. Thorn always had an interesting perspective on things, and it was slightly comforting to Murtagh that his dragon was not worried in the slightest.

Suddenly, a loud blast from a horn echoed around them. The orange mass of soldiers shifted and began to advance, slowly approaching Belatona's main gates.

Murtagh called down to the soldiers below, "It is time! The enemy is coming!" The soldiers bustled around, settling into their positions to fend off the enemy if the gates fell.

Within the hour, Mareth's catapults launched their first missiles, and a battering ram was being rushed to the front. Murtagh's heart pulsed.

The battle for Belatona had begun.

* * *

**Whew. Finally. I didn't think that chapter would ever end. Honestly, I'm not very pleased with how this one turned out, but trust me: I feel like I did a really good job with Chapter 5. So, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it; I know I didn't :P. And don't worry, chapter 5 shouldn't take nearly as long to update. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Well here it is... this chapter could very well be the best one, and it is definitely my favorite. Hopefully you enjoy it, and don't forget to review! Thanks!**

**Thanks to Eragon0123 as well! Best beta in the world.**

* * *

CHAPTER 5

Murtagh was grateful that the small amount of training he had been given – both by Galbatorix and by Eragon – covered what to do in a battle like this. He knew that it was his responsibility as a Rider to hunt down and kill the enemy's magicians, so that the soldiers they guarded would be unprotected and vulnerable.

Casting wards about himself and his dragon, Murtagh climbed onto Thorn's back and, with a deafening battle roar, Thorn launched himself off the wall and out above the Surdan army. The Empire cheered as they saw the crimson dragon take flight.

From his perch atop the clouds, the red Rider carefully scoured the battlefield with his mind, searching for magicians. The easiest way to detect them would be to simply look for people who sensed the touch of his mind and recoiled from it.

It took Murtagh a few minutes to locate the first magician. When he served Galbatorix, part of his training had been about breaking into minds, and so it was painfully easy for Murtagh to slip through minute cracks in the man's defenses and seize control of his mind. Once he had control of the magician's thoughts, it was a simple matter to find the wards that he and his group of soldiers were protected by. Muttering a spell designed to circumvent those wards, Murtagh watched as the air around a battalion to his left rippled and caught fire. The panicked soldiers ran around in desperation, but all they succeeded in doing was spreading the flames. A grim smile appeared on Murtagh's face, and he continued his arduous work.

And so it went, for another few minutes, at least. Murtagh flew around on Thorn, slaughtering the Surdan magicians and the soldiers under their protection. Eventually, when only a few remained, they fled to a large tent that appeared to be the command center. Murtagh was disgusted at this behavior.

_Have they no honor?_ he asked Thorn. _They don't even care about the soldiers. All they want to do is save themselves._ The crimson dragon snorted but said nothing.

Through their bond, Murtagh could tell Thorn was frustrated at the lack of action he had seen, other than helping Murtagh break into the minds of the opposing mages. Murtagh patted his back fondly. _You will get your action soon, partner_, he assured him.

In fact, the opportunity came sooner than Murtagh would have preferred. With a loud crash, Belatona's wooden gates splintered under the impact of the battering ram, and the Surdans rushed into the city. They were quickly met by an opposing force of Imperial soldiers.

Murtagh was slightly disturbed at how quickly the gates had fallen. He himself had been the one to reinforce the wood with magic, but it had only taken the battering ram a dozen or so hits to break the gates down. He wondered if the ram was enchanted to be impervious to magic such as wards, and that thought made him uneasy. If Mareth could create a battering ram that could ignore protective spells, then he could also create arrows or swords that would be able to pass through his and Thorn's wards as if they weren't there. Murtagh banished the dark train of thought and turned his attention back to the battle, but he did not completely put aside his suspicions, in case they turned out to be true.

As per Murtagh's suggestion, the Empire attempted to use the houses and narrow streets to force the Surdans to fight battles in small pockets where they would be outnumbered and isolated. So far, it was working; the orange army had not advanced very far towards the citadel at the center of the city.

_Circle above that house_, Murtagh said, showing Thorn with his mind the point where he wished to be dropped off. _Harass the soldiers outside the gates as much as you can, but try not to purposefully put yourself in danger. The wards I gave you won't last forever._

_I'll be careful_, Thorn promised, and circled above the house his Rider had indicated.

Murtagh patted his back again and unfastened his legs from his saddle's straps. _Good luck, Thorn_, he said, and jumped from his dragon's back.

Using a spell to slow and then stop his descent, Murtagh landed gracefully on both feet at the end of the street where the Empire was currently trying to hold back the tide of Surdan soldiers. Overhead, Thorn bellowed a fierce roar and dove towards Mareth's army, crimson fire erupting from his maw. Dozens of soldiers were burnt to a crisp immediately, cooked in their armor. At the bottom of his dive, Thorn whipped his muscular tail back and forth, scattering the orange-clad soldiers everywhere. The red dragon pulled up and came around for another pass.

Murtagh, meanwhile, was having similar success. Drawing on the energy of the Eldunarí, he cast spell after spell to drive the Surdans back to the city's gates. Bright fire and lightning gathered in his palms, arcing out to blast into the main body of Mareth's army. The lightning jumped from soldier to soldier, electrocuting them where they stood, and the fire spread quickly and relentlessly.

One of the soldiers, wearing a long, dark red robe over top of his battle armor and orange tunic, shouted a phrase in the ancient language, attempting to counteract the tenacious fire and lightning. To Murtagh's delight, the magician found that his spell had the opposite effect: the flames burned with renewed power, and the bolts of lightning surged with new strength. Swearing, the magician attempted another spell, but this one had no effect at all, and Murtagh could see that he was flabbergasted.

Murtagh smiled with grim delight. _With the Name of the ancient language in my possession, none of your spells will have the effect you intended for them unless I allow it._

A Surdan soldier charged at him, snapping him out of his reverie. Blocking the edge with the flat of Zar'roc's blade, he locked hilts with the man and twisted hard. The sword dropped from his hand and clattered on the cobblestone streets. Murtagh dispatched the soldier and continued fighting his way down the street.

A furious roar erupted from outside the gates. _Murtagh! _Thorn cried in his mind. _They have enchanted arrows! They're passing through my wards!_

Murtagh swore. _Come back to the citadel courtyard and land_, Murtagh replied. _You can't stay out there._

_On my way_, said Thorn, and Murtagh felt the air shiver as the laborious flapping of his great wings drew closer. As he got a closer look at his dragon, Murtagh swore again.

Several arrow shafts poked out of his wings. Murtagh could feel the pain they were causing him through their link, so he set about healing them as soon as the crimson dragon had settled in the courtyard.

Suddenly, an angry, bellowing roar boomed through the air, followed a second later by an answering, equally powerful roar, and Murtagh felt dread settle into the pit of his stomach.

The roars had not belonged to Thorn.

* * *

Mareth was not pleased with the turn the battle had taken. He was also displeased with himself for underestimating the red Rider and his dragon.

It started off well enough, with the enchanted battering knocking open the city gates after only a few minutes of bashing them. But when the Rider took notice of the fact that Surdan soldiers were pouring into the city, that was where he had turned his attention, and his dragon had ravaged Mareth's troops outside the walls.

Mareth did not know how the Rider had the strength to cast spells that were so powerful. In fact, it seemed as though he was hardly drained at all. Mareth knew, however, that he had to be getting his energy from some_one _or some_thing_, and that some_one_ or some_thing_ was likely to be the one that was exhausted.

_It's time_, he decided. Mareth turned to his most loyal follower, Aris the magician, and nodded. The blond man knew what he intended to do.

Together, they walked out past the edges of the army, to a patch of grass that was seemingly empty. Mareth spoke something, and two dragons, one bronze and one teal, appeared from nowhere, the invisibility spells having been dismissed.

Aris and Mareth saddled their dragons and climbed onto their backs. With four flaps of Könungr's wings, he was airborne, with Vakana following alongside. Könungr opened his mouth and loosed a deafening roar, and next to him, Vakana bellowed a similar challenge.

Mareth grinned wickedly. It was time for the battle of Belatona to begin in earnest.

* * *

A few seconds after he had heard the roars, Murtagh saw the dragons.

They flew side by side, each with a Rider on their back. From their appearance, the bronze dragon looked to be male and, from his size, five or six years old. The teal female that flew parallel to him seemed to Murtagh to be about the same age.

Murtagh was absolutely dumbfounded at their sudden revelation. How had Mareth secretly raised and trained two dragons without anyone knowing? And how did he have two bonded dragons when Surda had not been given any eggs to safeguard? He could not answer those questions, and yet, here they were, two magnificent dragons, roaring their defiance and preparing to do battle with he and Thorn.

When he finished healing his dragon's injuries, he leapt back into Thorn's saddle and the ruby dragon took off, heading for the clouds above the city. He hoped to use them for cover, and then drop out of them and take Mareth's two dragons by surprise.

As they flew upwards, the enemy dragons caught sight of them. The bronze bellowed, shooting a gout rust-colored fire from between his jaws. Murtagh didn't flinch, and the tongues of flame did not even come close to reaching them. As they sped past, Murtagh could clearly make out the features of the men riding the two dragons.

The teal Rider had light blond hair and eyebrows, and a defiant, greedy fire in his eyes. He was short and stocky but muscular, almost like a dwarf, yet he was clearly human. The bronze Rider, meanwhile, had jet-black, short hair, and his eyes were pale gray. Murtagh found this slightly unnerving, though he did not know why. What was obvious, though, was the jeweled, golden crown that rested atop his close-cropped hair.

Again, Murtagh felt dread gathering in his stomach. Here he was: the mysterious Mareth, king of Surda and leader of this rebellion. Murtagh wondered how, despite all he had heard about Mareth, none of the reports had mentioned that he was a Dragon Rider, he or this other man. The red Rider still could not explain how Mareth had become a Rider.

Nonetheless, there he was, sitting astride his large bronze dragon, attempting to keep close enough to Thorn that they would not lose sight of him when he flew into the clouds.

What they did not expect, however, was for Thorn to turn around and fly straight towards them. Opening his jaws wide, a pennant of crimson fire jetted from his mouth, but the flames split and parted harmlessly around the two dragons.

Though his fire had not hurt them, it had distracted and blinded them enough that they could not react when Thorn came hurtling down at them, and he collided with the teal dragon, the female. The impact jolted Murtagh in the saddle, but it did not hurt him; his wards prevented that. Thorn latched onto the teal dragon's vulnerable underside with his claws, and bit at the bottom of her neck.

The teal dragon shrieked, twisting violently in a desperate attempt to throw off the crimson male, but Thorn had plunged his talons deep into her unprotected wings, and he would not be shaken.

Out of the corner of his eye, Murtagh caught sight of the bronze dragon as he tried to rush at Thorn's flank. _Look out!_ he shouted to Thorn with his mind. _The bronze is trying to catch you unawares on the right side!_

Thorn snarled and turned, dragging the still screaming female along with him. The bronze dragon uttered a desperate growl, but his momentum was too great, and he could not stop himself.

With a sickening crunch, the bronze crashed into his teal ally, breaking at least half the bones in his left wing. Mareth's dragon howled in pain, and Thorn took the opportunity to disengage from the teal dragon and throw her at the bronze.

The teal female could not arrest her descent, and once again, the allies collided with each other. This time, it was the teal dragon whose wing was crushed in the impact, and the enemy pair tumbled awkwardly through the air. The ground was only a few hundred feet below them when something happened.

For Murtagh, the feeling was difficult to describe. To the red Rider, and felt as if the world suddenly _shifted_. It did not actually move, but inexplicably, it felt changed somehow, and Murtagh was left utterly bewildered.

Immediately, the two enemy dragons halted in their fall. Bones snapped back to together, the gashes and holes from Thorn's claws closed over and healed, and the dragons, able to fly once more, separated.

As the pair threateningly circled Thorn, Mareth, riding on the fierce bronze dragon raised his glittering bronze sword, and Murtagh wondered vaguely where he had acquired a Rider's sword. Then a voice, magnified by magic, spoke out across the battlefield to them. It came from Mareth's mouth, and the voice was unmistakably that of a king.

"Murtagh Morzansson," Mareth sneered. "You have caused Könungr and Vakana painful wounds, but you cannot hope to defeat us. As you can see, I have healed their injuries, but they still owe you recompense for these hurts." His bronze dragon, apparently named Könungr, growled menacingly as his Rider spoke these words. "However…," continued Mareth, "I am a merciful lord and king, so I will offer you the chance to flee. Before you so rashly reject my kind offer" – Murtagh, who had opened his mouth to do just that, slowly closed it again – "take a look inside your precious city. The battle does not fare well for the Empire's forces."

Murtagh looked, and in despair, he saw that Mareth's words were true. Without Murtagh to assist them, the Imperial soldiers had been overwhelmed by the tide of Surdan warriors. As Murtagh watched, the last resisting group, at the entrance to the citadel, was slaughtered by the orange-clad soldiers. Murtagh closed his eyes and sighed. The city was taken.

Opening his eyes, and with a look of pure fury, Murtagh sent a seething glare towards the bronze Rider. "You have not seen the last of us, Mareth, false Rider and false king of Surda!" he spat. "I swear, to matter what it takes, or how long it takes, we will destroy you, and crush your little rebellion!" he said in the ancient language. Switching back to vernacular, he yelled, "You still have not bested us. We are retreating because the battle is lost, but we are far from defeated. Did you not see? Thorn overpowered both of your dragons with very little effort. They may be strong and powerful, but they are inexperienced in aerial combat such as this. In any case, this fight is over. I promise you, the next time we meet, we will kill you." And with that, Thorn turned and flew away, flapping north, towards Dras-Leona.

Murtagh sighed. When he arrived at the city, he needed to contact Eragon and tell him what had taken place at Belatona. There was no doubt his brother needed to know, for he was possibly the only one now with the power to stop Mareth.


End file.
